


Stripped Down To The Bone

by crimsonsenya



Series: Rivers of Babylon [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Slash, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonsenya/pseuds/crimsonsenya
Summary: "His job description was clear: spend a week with Connor in a penthouse Angel had rented specially for the occasion, and keep an eye on Connor at all times, while helping him to get over the after effects of drug abuse."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Canon until 5.18 Origin of Ats, then AU. In this universe, only Connor recovers his memory, so the rest of AI still don’t remember Connor or the events of Season 4 and that’s why Angel wants to keep him hidden. The following story takes place about six months after Origin. AI still works at W&H. The apocalypse has been postponed. Illyria is around though. It won't be obvious until the sequel, but events in S5 have happened somewhat differently. Angel/Spike pairing is in the past/implied.
> 
> This is a really old fic, my first ever. Originally posted on LJ in July 2004. Re-reading it sort of makes me cringe and I had to do some editing, but I still want to keep this fic archived with the rest of my fic. First part of a two part series, in which the second part remained a WIP. Betaed way back by Notaspambot. Title from Depeche Mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the chapter at the end notes!

[ ](http://shades-of-moonlight.com/hero/index.html)

[ ](http://www.panthermoon.com/sct/PotentialAwards)

********************************

Let me see you  
Stripped down to the bone  
Let me hear you crying  
Just for me

********************************

“You soddin’ bastard!” Spike cried out as he punched Angel straight on the chin, before he had time to react. Spike was absolutely mad, so freakin’ furious he shuddered. The punch had thrown Angel against the wall, and he determinedly avoided Spike’s gaze, as Spike continued to rage. “I so fucking hate you! Is there nothing sacred in this world to you? I can’t believe you did this!”  
Spike paced the office with his fists tightly clenched. He kicked the mahogany desk, and Angel sighed, when he heard the wood shatter. It seemed to calm Spike down a little, because he turned his back to Angel and stared out the window. Angel had finally revealed to him that he had also a child of flesh and not just of blood. They had spent all the afternoon in his office, and now the sun was pouring its last reddish rays over the city. Angel had explained him everything: Darla’s return, Connor’s birth, the prophecies, and the kidnapping, Connor’s return from Quortoth, and his part in Jasmine’s world peace, and at last, Angel’s deal to join W&H in exchange of Connor’s new life, and the not living happily ever after part which included, among other things, killing Sahjahn. 

 

“I need you to help me.” Angel said quietly and hated to sound like he was begging, hated to expose himself to Spike this way. He wasn’t supposed to need Spike’s help. They had history, they had physical attraction, or better said, they had carnal desire, but _not_ need for help. However, right now Spike was the only one who could help. Hell, Spike was the only one, whom he could even turn to. He was the only one not involved in Connor’s life before his son’s new memories.

“Oh, I’ll help you, but it’ll cost you. Let’s see how valuable your son is to you. I want thousand dollars a day –no, let’s make it two thousand.” Spike turned to face Angel, folding his arms scornfully. Angel was relieved. He only had to get Spike to stay with Connor for a week. After that, Angel was absolutely sure Spike would stay voluntarily, because he knew his childe. Blood mattered to Spike. Why else would he have stayed in L.A. with the grandsire he always vigorously declared to loath?

“So, you promise to take care of him?” Angel asked.

“I promise.”

 

***********************************

 

Connor had swallowed the yang and yin patterned pill about an hour before. He was still lying on the couch, where he had lain down while waiting for the X to kick in, when his father (the one that looked the same age as Carlos) had busted in the club. Without as a hello, he had attacked Carlos by lifting him from the front of his white silk shirt, slamming him flat on the counter, and pressing a curved dagger at his throat. The old man had some serious phallic issues going on with knives, Connor had thought amused. 

“Look at me!” Angel had shouted at the lawyer. “You know, who I am, don’t you? You coke-snorting pimp!” Carlos’ nod had been barely visible. “Then you'll be wise enough to stay the hell away from Connor, don’t you? Answer me!” Angel had pressed the blade deeper into his skin, a trickle of blood rolled down his throat. Pretty, Connor had thought

“Yes,” Carlos had muttered. Two of Carlos’ thugs and three bouncers had encircled the pair, but Angel hadn’t arrived alone. The first thug was knocked unconscious from behind, and Connor saw Spike’s smirk. Meanwhile, Angel had bundled Connor up in his arms. At this point, Connor had been already rolling and feeling so happy he could have kissed all the vampires in the room, but he simply dangled back his head to look at the suddenly bright neon lights of the club. 

 

*********************************

 

Connor sat on the edge of a king-size bed. Spike had dropped himself on his knees to untie Connor’s shoes.

“What kind of a name is Spike, anyway?” he asked. The vampire lifted his relentless, predatory eyes.

“I used to kill people with railroad spikes. Originally, I was called William, William the Bloody.”

“Like Bloody Maries?” Spike lifted his eyebrow. Connor started giggling and threw himself aback on the bed. Spike was his father’s grandchilde, Angel had told him in the car. That meant Spike was his nephew, kind of. But because Drusilla, Spike’s sire had at one point also sired Connor’s mother, Darla, Spike was at the same time Connor’s uncle. “Our family belongs to daytime drama,” Connor babbled and giggled more.

“Yes, we bloody well do,” Spike answered as if he had heard Connor’s thoughts. Meanwhile, Spike had shifted Connor over to unbuckle the belt that held up his leather pants. Connor looked at Spike’s hair in the dim spotlight of the table lamp. The x-ing still intensified the colours, and Connor wanted to touch the rainbow falling over the vampire’s ears. 

“It was different before, merely bleached.” Connor lifted his hand, but he couldn’t reach Spike’s hair. The base colour was raven black but it had golden and dark red highlights. Connor lowered his hand to his side and started tapping the bed cover. That hair blended nicely in the clubs, where he had seen Spike. Connor doubted Spike had ever noticed or recognized him. Their encounter at W&H had been a short one, after all. From afar, he had observed Spike talking to people Connor knew were somehow linked to dealing drugs. Sometimes, Connor saw him flirting with women, who seemed to melt in his company, and Connor was sure that the women he danced with were later ready to jump into Spike’s bed. “It’s the bad boy syndrome,” Connor said aloud. Spike smirked at him, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

“You like it too, huh?” Spike answered his eyes still fixed on Connor, which made him feel an excited tingle on the bottom of his belly and caused him to gulp unintentionally. Spike was unzipping his leather pants and pulling them down. No underwear. Spike gave him an approving nod and started to unbutton Connor’s shirt. It was black and completely transparent, exposing his nipples and beautifully toned upper body to all viewers. Connor knew this, because Celia had chosen it for him and explained patiently, why Connor absolutely needed that particular piece of clothing. Now, Spike had moved close enough for Connor to tangle Spike’s strands in his fingers, and he thought he saw a little smile light the vampire’s face. Boy, how Connor’s thoughts raced, and his heart seemed to pound more than usually on X. Spike had to be at least bi. No way, any straight guy could undress another man with such ease and agility. But then again, vampires probably weren’t so picky when it came to sex. Connor thought of Ann Rice novels: all those guys seemed to be queer. 

 

Connor enjoyed having sex with men, but he also loved women. (Well, maybe he didn’t get very aroused by girls, even if he had had a high school crush, Tracy, but that had been more like part of his normal memories, the false ones.) Oh, Connor loved glowing, self-assured career women like Celia, Carlos’s girlfriend, or the one lawyer who always left Connor a bag of 20 rolls of pure MDMA for letting her watch, when he had sex with her blue-eyed, tattooed cowboy friend. The money he got from selling those drugs basically kept him in Chinese takeout. Her name was Layla or something, and Connor was very grateful to her. Spike’s eyes seemed to be blue too, but of a more greenish shade than the other guy’s eyes or Connor’s own. Spike took his hand and pulled him up. He started dancing naked in front of the vampire or ‘vampyre’, as he pronounced the word aloud. He remembered the original Dracula novel, where van Helsing and Mina were terrified of the vampire, and here he was being undressed like a baby by one blood-chilling nosferatu. Spike looked noticeably amused, joining the spinning while still holding Connor's hand and guiding him steadily towards the bathroom. Connor didn’t mind, his body felt hot and sticky from the X. In the bathroom, Spike pushed some buttons and lifted Connor in a state-of-the-art jacuzzi. 

“This looks like the dashboard of a space shuttle.” Spike grinned. The cool water sent pleasant shivers through Connor's spine, and Spike could probably sense his arousal.

“Music would be nice,” Connor said, sliding down to the bottom of the tub. Spike poured some bath gel in the water.

“Jean-Paul Gaultier. Nancy-boy surely is lavish of money as far as you're concerned,” Spike laughed. He left the bathroom door open behind him and went to turn on the TV. VH1 played hits of the 80s. Spike smiled when he recognized the band. “Bloody hell, those were the days”, he thought, recalling Hanoi Rocks’ first gig at the Marquee club in London. “1982,” he said, quietly.

Spike returned to the bathroom. His job description was clear: spend a week with Connor in a penthouse, Angel had rented specially for the occasion, and keep an eye on Connor at all times, while helping him to get over the after effects of drug abuse. 

“You know I will stake you, if you let him run away.” It was the last thing Angel had said, when he left Spike and Connor on their own devices. Spike knew the menace wasn’t empty, for fuck’s sake, he had tried to suffocate Wesley, the all-around good guy, for kidnapping his son. Indeed, here they were, the Angel Junior and him, behind locked doors. A hundred and twenty odd years, and nothing much had changed. Spike was still the caretaker of the family. Wonderboy or not, for Spike there was no doubt, whose son Connor was: the same moves, the same scent of cinnamon and pine trees, the same tickle on Spike’s skin that Angel’s presence caused. Spike couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized the connection right from the first time they had met, though he had been quite distracted with Illyria, and Connor had had the hots for the demon goddess! Spike had to admit the boy had balls. Connor looked a bit different from his father though, his hair was lighter, and he was much shorter, about Spike’s height, yet more slender. Spike realized that the skinny look would work as a perfect disguise for a demon destroyer, although the boy should probably eat more, and he was also too pale for a Californian. 

 

The water now reached his neck. Connor laid back his head, hands on the sides of the tub. He closed his eyes and moved his body to the music, drifting in from the TV. The water felt lovely. He heard Spike shut down the running water before retreating. The vampire returned to the bathroom though. Spike was obviously supposed to baby-sit him 24-7. “Geez, Dad, you should really loosen up,” he said to Angel in his mind, giggling aloud. 

_Dad._

He had used the word about three persons, and two times out of three, it had been a lie.

 _A lie._

************************************

 

After confronting Sahjahn and getting his memory restored, Connor had honestly believed he could go back to his former life and to his parents. But they were his parents only, because a warlock had altered their memories, created an illusion of happiness and familiarity. His parents would never have given him a home, if they had known, who he really was, if they had known, what he had done. They would never have loved him, and they would never have allowed him near their daughter, his little sister. It was all a lie. 

_You can’t be saved by a lie._

The gnawing sadness and fear had sneaked in his heart gradually. At first, he had simply tried not to think about the past. Then, he had begun to have weird dreams, which had slowly turned into dark and suffocating, bizarrely erotic nightmares. By the beginning of his internship at Vásquez & Garrido last summer, he had nightmares every time he went to sleep. Little by little, he had also started avoiding his family. (“Sorry, Mom. I’m really busy at work, and I’m still taking some exams.”) 

Even if he had graduated only a few years before, Carlos, under whom Connor worked, was a junior partner at the law firm, because the senior partner was his mother’s cousin. Carlos seemed to like the research Connor did, and Connor indeed had studied hard during his freshman year. V&G was primarily based in Pasadena, but their clients were mostly Columbian companies. (Yes, he had deliberately applied for a firm near L.A. to be closer to his father, the real one.) Not long after, he had begun his internship, Carlos had asked Connor to go out after work with him and his girlfriend, and as Connor had had nothing better (like sleeping) to do at the time, he had complied. Connor had never been into a V.I.P. club. Hell, Connor hadn’t gone out much at all, and legally, he shouldn’t have been allowed to enter, but Carlos had taken Connor straight past the bouncers after tipping them generously. At the club, he had greeted almost everyone they had met, and soon, Carlos had been pulled into the throngs of people. Connor had been sitting alone on a white leather couch quietly sipping his vodka tonic, at least for an hour, until Celia had come over to sit next to him. She was a beautiful woman with black hear and green eyes like Carlos had. Somebody could have mistaken them for siblings.

“I too get sometimes bored here with him doing business. You want some snow?” she had asked him, taking a small silver case out of her handbag. Connor hadn’t been surprised to see the coke. In fact, he had almost expected to come up against drugs in a firm that worked for Columbians. (Perhaps, he too had wanted to live in the belly of the beast.) “You look so sad, Connor. A lovely boy like you should never have to feel blue.” Celia had smiled at him. The image of a young girl lying dead on a dirty bathroom floor with a needle stuck in her arm had flashed before Connor’s eyes.

“No, thanks. I... I’m just going have a few drinks tonight,” Connor had replied, trying to sound cool and casual. She had made two short lines for herself and snorted them.

“You wanna go dancing?” she had asked him, instead. They had danced to the heavy, sexy beat of the music, bodies swaying close to one another, yet Connor had lost sight of her eventually. Some time afterwards, Carlos had pulled him out of the crowd.

“Celia told me you don’t like coke, but we really have to get you to smile," Carlos said, grinning playfully at him. "Are you in some trouble? You know, if you need any help, you can just ask me.” Carlos' gaze had turned intense, and he kept holding Connor in a tight grip.

“It’s a family thing,” Connor had blurted out and felt himself flush red with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, Connor. I have something else you might like.” He had given Connor a small, shiny white pill with the pattern of a crown on it.

“What is it?”

“100% pure ecstasy. It will make you feel better than you've ever felt in your life.” Connor had still hesitated, but Carlos had continued. “You can be sure aspirin is more dangerous than this.” Carlos had patted his cheek, when Connor had finally taken the pill. After half an hour, he had begun to feel the rush. All his sorrow, his anxiety, his pain. It was all gone. The fears, that every night invaded his painfully troubled mind, became faint shadows at the corners of the club. Connor had realized the beguiling experience was one more illusion, one more lie, but right then he hadn’t cared. Soon, he had felt heat, and when both Celia and Carlos came to French-kiss him, he had felt love. Since that night, Carlos gave Connor ecstasy every weekend, and Connor had sex with him, whenever Celia was too high on coke, which happened a bit too often in Connor’s opinion. (The days after were terrible. He felt like his head would explode, and both the real and the altered memories kept flashing in a kaleidoscopic horror movie through his head. He couldn’t spend the hangover days alone, so he usually went shopping with Celia, his eyes tightly covered with dark glasses, and they would end up eating ice cream at the mall, until it made him sick. She never had hangovers, because she just sniffed some more dust in the morning. The following nights, he sat awake on his bed eyes wide open, sensing every living being in the apartment building. No, he would not sleep. (He didn’t want to fall asleep, even if his whole body had lost its strength and his eyelids felt like lead.)

 

Carlos had also presented Connor to the firm’s clients, some of whom wanted to have sex with him, too. When Connor sold the drugs they gave him to the bartender, he could buy himself new, more expensive clothes, and even put some money in the bank. At the end of the summer, he had called his parents:

 

“Mom, Dad, I’ve decided to take a year off the college and make some money. I’ve been offered the chance to continue my internship for a term.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's dubious consent implied about Connor's sexual dealings with the clients of the law firm he is interning in!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote in this chapter is from the Skunk Anansie song I Can Dream. Warning for an attempted suicide and some gore.

**************************.

Oh what a sacrifice  
All of my pain won't fade away  
So who's so special now  
No one's more special, more than me 

**************************** 

 

Connor opened his eyes, startled. The water had already turned lukewarm. How could he fall asleep naked with a vampire in the same room? As a matter of fact, he could usually only sleep peacefully when he was tripping. Supposedly, his special constitution had something to do with it. He always had to take double the amount of drugs a regular human would have for the same effect, thanks to his genetics. Connor rose from the water: his skin was wrinkled, and he was feeling dizzy, when he bent over to push the empty button. He stepped out of the tub and took a quick shower without even glancing at Spike, but he could sense the vampire standing nearby, holding dry towels. Connor cut off the water, and Spike was at once behind him like an old-time valet, wrapping one towel around his waist before giving him another one to dry his hair. Then, Spike grabbed him firmly by the elbow to lead him out of the room, which was actually a good idea, because the dizziness had gotten worse.

 

“Oh, no!” Connor gasped, when he felt his stomach churn. Spike held his hair back while he bid farewell to the hot beef and rice he’d eaten hours before. Afterwards, when he tried to wash his teeth, he began to shake, and his arms cramped. In the end, Spike almost had to carry him to the bed. Spike went to the kitchen for some mineral water. After checking the cupboards and drawers, he found straws.

“Had Angel been watching soddin’ Martha Stewart, or how else in God’s green earth had he been able to provide the apartment with everything they could possibly ever need?” Spike thought to himself. His damn sire had even bought onion blossoms and Weetabix for him.

 

Too restless for the moment, Connor couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, he had pulled on a pair of black silk boxers and kept circling the bedroom, twitching and shaking, until Spike came back. Connor drank the offered water in almost one gulp and continued to pace. Spike let his instincts lead his behavior. “I need you to help him, however you can.” Angel had told him with _that_ glance, the one that he had worn a long time ago, every time he had said: “I don’t care what you do to calm Dru down.” Connor stopped walking as soon as he felt Spike’s arms around him, and his chest pressing against Connor’s smooth shoulder blades. Spike’s lips pressed light, soothing kisses on Connor's neck. His hands cramped again, but now Connor could wrap his fingers around the vampire’s wrists to ease the pain. They climbed to the bed, and Spike kept kissing and licking Connor’s back and neck, as long as he sensed Connor’s body relax and his cock harden. Then, he slipped his hand under Connor’s boxers and started stroking him. Very tenderly at first, but when he felt the tension build up in Connor’s body, he tightened his grip, until Connor came with a moan and a cry. Spike really hoped sex would calm this child too.

 

The vampire’s cool body had been comforting and safe, yet Spike’s kisses and his hardness pressed on Connor’s bottom very enticing and arousing. His body shuddered, when he felt Spike leave him, but Spike only went for a towel to clean him up. He saw Spike standing completely naked, his pale, marble skin glimmering, the blue veins in his arms and in his… Every part of him looked good… And Connor had been around enough to make comparisons. His vision had gotten blurred, but he wanted to return the favor. He pulled himself on a sitting position and looked at Spike’s unfathomable eyes. Quickly, before Spike could resist him, Connor covered Spike’s shaft with his mouth, while his hands started caressing the vampire’s lower back, bottom and thighs. Spike gasped for unneeded air and drowned his fingers in Connor’s hair. 

“Where in the bloody hell had the kid learned to suck and lick like that?” Spike thought and couldn’t hold himself back very long. Connor swallowed him in, unhesitatingly. Later, Connor covered Spike with his lithe body like a warm blanket, and Connor fell asleep like a baby, with his cheek resting on Spike’s chest. “A damaged angel,” the thought flickered in Spike’s mind. “He is like a bird made of glass, hard yet so breakable.” Spike breathed in his scent and sighed. The first night would be the easiest part. He knew enough about junkies to know that an inferno of mood swings would not be unleashed until the following days.

*********************************

 

_There is only one thing that changes everything –death._

_Everything else is just a lie._

_A lie._

_Death._

_Dead._

 

When Connor woke up, his mouth felt dry like the sand in a desert, and this sand wasn’t golden but crystal white. Connor’s puffed eyes itched, as he wandered aimlessly in the wilderness. Though he was never alone, he could not escape all those eyes that always saw him stripped bare of lies and excuses, regardless of how well he tried to hide, or wear disguises. All those hollow eyed skulls and bodies covered with decaying flesh danced around him and grinned.

“You don’t belong, you don’t belong! You are the Prince of lies, you are the Prince of lies!” Sorrow and solitude flushed over him. Maybe, if he ripped his heart out, it would stop hurting. 

“We slept for over twelve hours, luv.” Connor flinched, as Spike interrupted his thoughts. He was covered in sweat.

“You want some breakfast?” Spike asked.

“I would like to take a bath again.” The tub had been refilled, and Spike had retreated to his position of the night before, when they heard a repetitive, beeping sound. Connor opened his eyes. “That’s a cell phone.” Spike disappeared in the bedroom. He came back with a grin, holding the phone.

“Bloody hell, it’s Angel. I’ll be right back.” 

_Bloody._

_Blood._

_Blood of a virgin._

_Dead._

_I guess I really am your son ‘cause I’m dead too._

_I can’t feel anything._

_Dead._

He had been dead. Now, he wasn’t, because he felt everything. His father was dead. His mother was dead, because he was not. Holtz was dead, because he had failed to kill his father the first time they met. _Kill._ The employees at Wolfram  & Hart were dead. Cordelia was dead. The virgin was dead. Jasmine was dead. The people Jasmine had devoured were dead. The bloody pulp of a man on the roof was dead. Connor was not dead.

 _Blood._

Blood on Holtz’s neck. Blood on Cordelia’s stomach. Blood in Angel‘s fridge. Blood on Connor’s face, when Angel hit him.

 _Blood._

His own blood crashed inside his veins black like the ocean in the night. He was not dead.

_Dead._

He had seen a blade in the cabinet the night before, right there beside his toothbrush. There were weapons hidden all around the apartment, probably meant for keeping the two of them safe. _Sharp cold blade cutting away his memory._ Back in the tub, he cut his forearms open on both arms. Cutting was something he remembered, but he couldn’t remember, how many demons he had killed and flayed... He should have cut his neck, but then he could not have been able to watch the steady flow of dripping blood. 

_Blood._

He fixed his eyes on the tattoo etched over his heart. When he had seen the picture at Celia’s apartment for the first time, he knew he would carry it forever. The long-haired man with loving eyes and a sad smile had pierced Connor’s heart, and when Connor saw _his_ , he was blinded: A burning heart circled with thorns and run through by a sword. Now, when the tattoo revealed Connor’s heart to everyone, there was at least one thing in his life that was not a lie. Celia had been religious. She had made a cross in front of the picture every time she left home. “This is the emblem of eternal love and sacrifice,” she had told him. On Sundays, Celia went to confess and stay for the mass. She took Connor once to see the heart in a much larger picture. 

_This is my blood, which is shed for you._

_Shed. Kill. Sacrifice. Blood. Blood of a virgin._ My blood is not virgin. Let it be the _sacrifice._

_You can’t be saved by a lie._

Let my blood be the truth… Let my blood wash me clean… Let my blood save me…

_Don’t let my death mean nothing._

Mom… It’s cold…

 

********************************* 

 

Spike roared fiercely, as he dragged Connor out of the red water. He grabbed two hand towels and darted to the bedroom with Connor in his arms.

“Bloody hell! Please, fuck, don‘t let anything happen to him!” Spike did not know if he should curse or pray. He had been talking to Angel for fifteen soddin’ minutes. Connor‘s pulse was faint, and he was unconscious. Spike knew though that the kid was hard to kill. He turned the hand towels into temporary bandages, while he run off to the kitchen for the first aid kit, a small bottle of mineral water and a bottle of scotch. He tended the wounds, before slapping Connor in the face. “Wake up, Connor! Come back! Fuck!” Connor felt like he was swimming back to the surface. When he opened his eyes, Spike made him drink the whole bottle of mineral water, as he drank long gulps of scotch himself. “You soddin’… stupid… weasel. I fucking hate you!” Spike shouted. “If you had died, I would have had to jump off the roof. God, I‘m not leaving you alone anymore, not even to speak with the bastard on the phone.” Connor lowered his gaze, nauseated.

“I’m sorry.” It was a faint whisper.

“You're sorry? If you ever do this again, there won’t be anything left of you to cut. I'll chop you up myself,” Spike fumed. “Fuck,” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “Now, I’ll have to clean up this mess, before we can get anything to eat.” 

 

********************************

_I really do love you, Connor._  
So what are you gonna do about it?  
Prove it. 

 

Connor sat by the kitchen table with a mug of hot cocoa between his hands. He observed Spike cooking chicken soup. The vampire had drunk his pig’s blood earlier, and now, he was smoking his third cigarette. Spike was wearing his clothing of choice, black jeans and a t-shirt. He had turned on the radio, so they were listening to Jimi Hendrix. Angel had declared his love for him many times, but what had he done? The jerk had thought another lie, although a sweet one, was best for his son. But lies tended to come back to haunt people, like they had come back to him. The mere thought of the avalanche of memories that had swept over him before killing Sahjahn made Connor furious. How many times would he have to start and adapt all over again? And what had his father done –to prove his love– when Connor had finally found a way to endure the pain, the guilt? He had destroyed Connor’s world, cut his ties to the people, who had helped Connor to bear the agony that was named –completely– inappropriately life.

“What do you know about me, Spike?”

“Well, the things that have happened between you and Angel: Holtz’s death, him at the bottom of the ocean, which I think was genius, but you’ll have to remind me not to piss you off…”

“What do you know about my new life?”

“After Jasmine, the big poof had you and all his friends mindwiped, but then, the little incident with Sahjahn messed up your new life, which -since the confrontation- includes, for instance, law school, drugs, wild sex, and parties. Do you want me to go on?”

“And Angel?”

“Peaches says he loves you”

“He has an extraordinary way to show it or a way to dodge showing it.”

“Would you like him to be here with you, when you’re bloody depressed after being high on happy pills for six months?”

“No,” Connor answered, bluntly.

“Alright, there’s proof for you.” Spike stubbed the butt of his cigarette on a silver ashtray on the sink. “This is the first time, he’s taking care of you without lying to you. Now, he, at least, respects the fact that what you need most is both love and truth, and after you get over your drug of perfect happiness, courage to face your past.” He lit a new one and turned back to the soup on the stove.

“He sent you.”

“Yeps. That’s proof of his love too. Angel and I go way back, and we’ve spent the greater part of the last century fiercely disliking each other, but Angel acknowledges that you and me share the same blood, and that despite our long-lasting rivalry, you need be with your true blood and kin. You may not be happy with the idea that your only real relatives are friggin’ vampires, but it’s time to face the truth, luv. However painful it might be.”

 

Spike’s little speech made sense. Connor had nothing to loose. If Angel had finally decided truth was the name of the game, Connor could play along as well. They couldn’t keep him here against his will, he could find a way out, if he wanted. The thing that scared him was that he had no other place to go for the time being, he could not go back to Carlos and Celia. Angel had surely taken care of their friendship (one more thing to hate him for, a voice in his head whispered). He would probably get whacked out if he tried and he didn’t want to go back to his fake parents either, good people as they were. Why would Spike stay with him if he disliked Angel? 

“Do you even like me?” Connor asked him. The cigarette dropped from Spike's fingers and he must have looked utterly astonished.

“I like what I see so far. Even if I didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be here…”

“Because we are same blood?” Connor repeated what Spike had just told him.

“Yeah, and ‘cause I made a promise,” Spike said quietly, turning to the soup to not show the kid his face. “The food’s ready,” he muttered.

 

**********************************

 

Spike was cooking every meal for Connor. He should definitely come up with some form of payback to his grandsire for turning him into a soddin’ mamabear. Spike soon found out Connor had a similar taste to his for hot and spicy food, so he would add chili peppers to every dish. Sometimes, Connor did not throw up his food, and they celebrated the miracle of digestion with beer. 

“I didn’t know that vampires were good cooks,” Connor remarked.

“I’ve watched a few cooking programs since the invention of TV,” he smirked. Being forced to immobility made him smoke too much, and Connor asked him, if he could smoke too. 

“Your daddy will kill me, slice me into tiny pieces and feed me to the pigs. But if it soothes your nerves, then go ahead,” Spike said and gave him a packet, because the kid really could use some tranquilizers, and Spike had always considered himself restless. Connor either twitched his hands, or tapped something with his fingers, or moved his feet, or bit his fingernails, or shifted his position endlessly. Spike wasn’t allowed to call him kid either. Compared to Spike’s one hundred plus few decades, Connor was a kid, but Spike kept his mouth shut, which was very unusual of him, and a certain sign he had started to care for the brat. As if he couldn’t identify himself with Connor’s contradictory feelings regarding the Big Poof: both his distrust and his need for Angel’s approval.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from the Enigma song Gravity of Love.
> 
> There was one downright embarrassing mistake in this chapter. Luckily, it's fixed now.

**********************************

But if you're in the eye of storm  
Just think of the lonely dove  
The experience of survival is the key  
To the gravity of love

***********************************

 

They mostly spent their days watching television or movies Angel had equipped them with. First _The Godfather_ trilogy, then Sergio Leone’s _Dollars_ trilogy, then a few Kurosawa movies from _Seven Samurai_ to _Ran_ , which they both liked best. Spike could perfectly understand, why _X-men_ and _X2: X-men United_ caused Connor’s eyes to sparkle. Finally, they watched the original _Star Wars_ trilogy and _Empire Strikes Back_ three times a row, and every time Spike could sense Connor swallow back his tears. When Connor realized that Spike had noticed his weak spot, he angrily stuffed himself with five Mars-candy bars one after another, and ended up puking in the bathroom again. Connor remembered well the first time he’d been to the movies. And he didn’t think of the Disney animation he was supposed to have seen at the age of six, but the mindless action flick with lots of showy explosions, he had watched with Angel, Fred and Gunn. Yet, he could consider the real cinematic experience almost as fake as the created one, because most of his company at the time didn’t recall it ever happened. After the first couple of days, even if Spike never left him out of his sight, Connor had become grateful for the vampire’s presence. Spike was in good mood all the time: he cracked jokes and handled Connor’s vomiting with humor. Most importantly, Connor did not have to sleep alone. When he woke up shaking in the middle of the night, after some new, distorted nightmare, Spike always stayed awake with him, holding him and stroking his hair like he was a scared child, which of course, was also embarrassing as hell for Connor in daylight. 

 

Spike felt a lump in his throat every time he looked at Connor’s eyes. Sad and wounded, they begged for unconditional love and acceptance, though the kid tried his best to hide his vulnerability and bewilderment behind the decadent young man act. Spike damned Angel in his mind for hurting him, but the old ponce had always had a gift for destroying things of beauty. Hell, he had made an art form of breaking and twisting everything that was fragile and precious. The wanker had driven his own son to the verge of suicide, and the mental picture of Connor lying limbs spread in a pool of his own blood woke up a mixture of old rage and fear in Spike, which almost made him shift into gameface. What he would never understand was, how in the bloody hell a halfwit tart like Darla and a conceited hedonist like Angel had been able to procreate such an intelligent, well-mannered, warmhearted, and caring son. 

 

**********************************

 

Whenever Connor was not feeling utterly down, they discussed politics, philosophy and pop culture. Sometimes, Connor even told him about things he had done with his family, especially with his kid sister, the false one, or he shared anecdotes of his time at law school. When Connor asked Spike about his life in L.A., he even seemed interested in his answers, and Spike couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to actually listen to him. 

“You like the Beats too?” Connor asked him amazed, when he saw him reading Burroughs' _Naked Lunch_.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “He's fairly anti-establishment.”

“Fairly? What do you mean? The Beat movement is the most rebellious thing to happen in American literature, like ever!” Connor’s eyes started to sparkle.

“Well, the Beats are pretty lame compared to the French avant-garde and the Italian futurists of the 1920s. I remember all those art exhibitions, performances and _happenings_ : they were so utterly chaotic nobody ever realized if Dru and I took a few snacks. Once they had all their performers dressed in white tulle curtains, acting as a congregation for a naked woman with a mitre, who in turn acted as priest and beat lids of kettle and tooted a car horn.” Spike stretched his arms on the back of the couch as he continued. 

“Meanwhile, one guy went to shake hands with all spectators, and another one took everyone’s left shoe off ,and those who didn’t comply got cold tea poured on them. Bloody hell, those surrealists reveled in anarchy, or in ‘total disobedience’ as they called it. And the sex…” Spike reminisced as Connor stared at him wide-eyed, sneaking closer, until he was almost sitting on Spike’s lap.

“The Beats had their bebop sessions and their orgies too,” Connor defended his favorite literary movement, and Spike thought, that the pout on his lips was way too cute for a vicious demon killer.

“The Beats were boy scouts compared to the surrealists and dadaists, believe me,” Spike provoked him, intentionally. He wanted to admire all those swift changes of expression on the kids face. “Those lashes could be used as eaves on a royal palace,” Spike thought, noticing how Connor’s open mouth was an irresistible invitation to a kiss. Spike lowered his lips. Connor flinched before responding, but the kiss was good and honest, and somehow, Spike wasn’t surprised of the hunger that lay beneath. He was the one to break the moment first. He gently nudged Connor back on the couch and started looking for his cigarettes. 

 

Sometimes, Spike even managed to make the kid laugh, but he knew Connor was still very depressed, and the nightmares didn’t let him sleep in peace. The fact of having to live behind locked doors was also irritating Connor. Luckily, they could smoke on the balcony and watch the lights of the city by night. Spike also noticed that Connor loved to sit on the windowsill and rest his eyes in the distance. One thing seemed to especially amuse him –daytime drama. Spike watched _Passions_ every day, and once, Connor had been updated on all important plot twists, they both agreed that Theresa was sexy as hell, and that they could smack Ethan for not realizing she was the woman of his life. Connor was also very sorry for not being able to meet the magical Timmy doll. 

 

Connor was confused. This vampire, this demon that took care of him, didn’t feel unfamiliar at all. His presence was comfortable, and Connor could not help but let his guard down. After all, they shared the secret of his failed suicide attempt, and Spike never mentioned it again, something that Connor appreciated. He didn’t want to defend his actions. That morning, cutting his arms open had felt like the only thing left for him to do, but now a couple of weeks later, Connor was happy that the wounds on his skin healed faster than the wounds in his heart. Connor could smell and sense Spike all the time, hovering around the apartment, yet it was not intruding or embarrassing. Actually, he had a constant pleasant tingle near Spike and kissing him had been bristling. Although Angel was Spike’s grandsire, and they were the only vampires with souls recorded in history, Connor could not imagine two more different people. His father was, undoubtedly, the champion, the hero, the sun around which all the insignificant planets revolved. There was always the knowledge that if the sun burned up it would turn into a huge black hole capable of sucking everything to eternal darkness. Spike, on the other hand, was like a lush jungle, unfathomable, but there was in him a calm center, like a clear-watered lake.

“He is a mystery –like me,” a voice whispered in the back of Connor’s head.

 

******************************************* 

 

It was the third or fourth week. Connor had lost count. He had spent the entire night tossing in the bed, and when he had finally fallen asleep, he had dreamed of a lean alabaster body that had been entwined with another more muscled but equal in beauty. Consequently, he woke up with a hard on, which increased his unease. How long was he supposed to be here? Angel called Spike on the cellphone every day, and Spike told him that Connor had eaten and was not dying of thirst, and that Connor hadn’t run away with a circus, or killed Spike, or vice versa, but Spike never spoke with Angel about ending their arrangement at the penthouse. Connor was fed up (he had really gotten used to going out to the clubs, or to hunt vampires when he was not high and needed to blow off some steam), until he came up with the idea of experimenting on Spike’s patience. Connor knew that a twenty-year-old law student was supposed to behave more maturely, but he was bored to death. He began the experiment by spreading all the clothes Angel had acquired around the apartment. Not getting any reaction from Spike, he opened every door and drawer he could find making as much noise as possible plus he turned on the radio at maximum volume. Yet, Spike merely sat by the kitchen table reading a book and chain smoking. Next, Connor decided to open every bag, box, jar, and bottle of groceries in the kitchen and leave them opened on the encounter. Spike didn’t even bother to lift his eyes, but Connor was persistent. He sat opposite of him and began to tap the table with his fingertips and the floor with his foot. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Poetry.” He added. “Gingsberg’s _Howl and other poems_.” 

“What time is it?”

“Two o’clock. You want something to eat?”

“No. I’m not hungry for food.” Finally, he got some action. Spike lifted his scarred eyebrow.

“How did you get that?” Connor pointed at the scar.

“From a Chinese slayer during the Boxer rebellion.” Connor kept tapping his fingers.

“There are three empty bedrooms in this apartment. Couldn’t we use one to spar a little?”

“Thought you weren’t in to the fighting anymore,” Spike noted.

“I can always change my mind, can’t I?”

“That’s fine with me.”

 

They blocked and dodged each other’s punches for a while, before seguing into kicks and locks. Connor had to admit that Spike was fast and agile, and he had a very distinct, almost feline fighting style that differed from his father’s. After half an hour, they both were excited and panting. And Spike wasn’t even supposed to need breath. Connor removed his shirt, because it had gotten him a new idea. He let Spike straddle him in order to get him pressed against his crotch, before he moved his hips upwards to see if the friction created any sparks, and BINGO! Spike’s response was immediate, and he was so dazzled that Connor managed to reverse their position and end up straddling Spike instead. Now, _he_ was steely too. He held Spike down by the shoulders and was about to lower his lips to kiss Spike, when Spike punched him hard in the armpit, throwing him across the room. “Damn it!” Connor gasped. He should have known better than to piss off a hundred-plus-year-old master vampire, but Spike had liked what he did. He was absolutely sure. 

 

Spike burst out the room and slammed the door behind him. He was angry to his body’s betrayal. Connor and he hadn’t had sex after the attempt of comfort at the first night. He didn’t expect to ever again, but spending more time with the boy and getting to know him better, meant that he began to fall for him, and that caused undesired reactions in his body. The last time he had enjoyed sparring this much had been with Buffy, and the fact that Connor smelt like his grandsire didn’t help Spike at all. On the contrary, the only thing that ever had worked between him and Angel was sex. But Spike didn’t want to shag the kid just to ease his boredom. One thing the Soulful Spike was adamant about was that he wasn’t going to be anyone’s toyboy ever again. Spike sagged down on the couch, drinking whisky, when Connor came to the living room. 

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” Connor tried to sound casual, but the shifting of legs gave away his nervousness. 

“Whatever,” Spike said, nonchalantly. Connor inserted the last _Dirty Harry_ movie ever produced. 

“Man, my father must be a Clint Eastwood fan.” It was a lame attempt to joke. He sat next to Spike on the couch and inhaled the familiar scent of tobacco, whisky, and leather. “Not every Tom, Dick, and Harry own a mighty gun like that,” Connor commented on the Magnum 44. Usually, Spike was the one to include sexual innuendo in normal conversation. Connor could not decipher his own behavior. He had never made a pass on a guy, they had always come to him. For some reason, he wanted to get under Spike’s skin, wanted to stir that peaceful lake. Connor shifted closer. “Spike must sense my arousal,” he thought, but Spike seemed to focus entirely on the film. Connor slipped his left hand under the tank top Spike had worn for sparring to touch his velvety vampire skin. With his right hand, Connor began to stroke the front of Spike’s sweats, and he felt Spike pulsate under his palm. Soon, Connor shivered and groaned as he started to smell his own musk mixed in with Spike’s. Yet again, Spike fled. The vampire dumped him without saying a word, without even glancing at him! Connor heard him enter the bathroom and run water into the basin. Perhaps, he should have given up, but Connor was never one to quit. He followed Spike and caressed the muscles of his bare back, while Spike rinsed his face with cool water. Spike stretched and carefully dried his face, and in a blink of the eye, Spike had him pinned against the tiled wall, one hand pinching Connor’s nipple while the other one gripped roughly his waist. Spike’s tongue was claiming Connor’s mouth, and their crotches ground against each other. When Connor needed air, Spike retreated, his eyes flashing yellow. 

“No,” he said, bluntly. 

“What!” Now, it was Connor's turn to loose his temper. “What are you playing at?” He had sensed Spike’s arousal all afternoon, and he had made Connor, too, yearn for more. Spike couldn’t possibly stop now, Connor would not allow him to. (He knew this was his own fault, but nonetheless, he had to get even with Spike.) Connor tried to sound like Angel as much as possible, when he punched Spike in the face: 

“Why did you stop? Were you afraid your dick would drop dead, if I teased you a little bit more?” He regretted his words at once, when he saw Spike change to gameface. The vampire dragged him to the bed with such speed and strength, that Connor barely realized he was lying flat on the cover, and that Spike had torn off his sweats. Connor tried to wriggle, but Spike’s grip on his neck was like iron. 

“You want to dance with me, is that it? I'll have a song and dance for you,” Spike hissed to his ear between his fangs. Connor had made Spike’s demon, who was always so eager to claim and possess, furious with his teasing, and Connor’s imitation of Angel had been the last straw, but now, he had Connor writhing naked on the bed and under his will. Finally, his soul kicked in, and Spike thanked the Powers That Be, that instead of fucking the boy raw until he was unconscious, Spike sunk his fangs on Connor’s neck. First he sucked long, hard gulps, but when Connor ceased struggling and whined quietly, he slowed the pace, until Connor was totally relaxed, his cheek resting on the pillow. Spike stopped the draining, but kept his fangs in Connor’s flesh and hands on his shoulders for a long time. When Connor fell asleep, Spike finally released him. The blood had tasted like finest cognac, and his every cell was filled with Connor’s powerful life force. 

_“Sireblood,”_ said the voice in his mind. “Intoxicating and arousing, family blood.” 

“Angel, you bloody bastard!” He thought, not knowing whether he should be furious or enthralled. “You knew this could happen. Perhaps, you even expected this to happen. Connor may never be able to trust you completely, so you decided to give me to him.” Spike had lost this battle and the whole damn war against Angel. One thing was sure, now he would never leave Connor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes are from Antoine Saint-Exupery and Enigma.

*************************************

 

Perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add but when there is no longer anything to take away, when a body has been stripped down to its nakedness. 

 

*************************************

 

Look into the mirror of your soul  
Love and hate are one in all

Sacrifice turns to revenge and believe me  
You'll see the face who'll say:  
I love you... I'll kill you...

But I'll love you forever

 

************************************* 

 

The sun was setting, when Connor woke up. He stared at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. The mark on his neck had almost completely healed. He traced his hand from the neck down to his bare chest and stomach. Before, where he would have been repulsed at the thought of a vampire –a filthy demon– touching him, he now felt utter intimacy. Spike’s bite had been the most erotic experience of his entire miserable life: the sharp pain, the pull, the floating, first the heightening and later the dulling of all senses. Connor wasn’t sure how to handle this new sensation of bonding and connection: as if the puzzle piece of his life had, after all, found a polygonal shape it fit perfectly in. The thing that confused him most was that his own blood seemed to recognize the sensation. His blood could sing some ancient song his conscious mind had no idea of, but he had a presentiment that, if he could drink from Spike in return, he would quench a hunger that was impossible to satisfy in any other way. Suddenly, Connor smelt the scent of heated blood hanging in the air. Then, he noticed something else.

“Dad! He’s going to freak out…” 

 

He dressed swiftly in a pair of Spike’s black jeans and a burgundy turtleneck shirt he found on the floor, before sneaking into the kitchen that still looked like it had been devastated by a hurricane after Connor's experiments. The two vampires were discussing some big bad client in low voices over a cup of blood. They turned eerily in unison, when Connor entered the room.

“You’re up.” (Had they been practising that?) Connor grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the fridge. He could sense two pairs of eyes on his back.

“Dad, I want to go out,” he said walking over to the vampires. Angel glanced at Spike, unsure.

“I think it would be good for him to get out of this bloody penthouse.” Spike supported the request.

“If you like,” Angel agreed. ”But we come back here, and we don’t let you out of sight.”

“Anywhere you want to go, luv, after you’ve cleaned the mess you made in the kitchen?” Spike grinned.

 

************************************

 

The Hoover dam was as enormous as he remembered. The stars twinkled in the black sky, but in the darkness, it was not possible to dwell on the contrast of sandy rocks rising high above the blue water. Connor just stared in the abyss and listened to the roaring. He had seen a vulture encircling the sky.

“Will I learn to fly, if I drop down?” He wasn’t sure, if he had actually said it as a kid in his false memory of a summer vacation, or was it something he could have really said. The pictures of his happy life became more faded each passing day.

“It would be so cool to jump from here with a rope.” Spike broke the silence. The two vampires were leaning on the railing at Connor’s left.

“Yeah, and get smashed against the dam.” Angel shook his head.

“We will jump someday, Spike,” Connor said, quietly. Again, he felt two pairs of piercing eyes, but he also sensed Spike’s astonishment.

“I…” Spike stepped away from the now vexed Angel, who only muttered

“Maybe we should drive back to L.A.”

 

*************************************

 

“You can go now. The money has been transferred to your account,” Angel had said to Spike earlier in the kitchen, after Spike had given him the obviously abridged and censored version of Connor’s little mind game the day before. Angel had smelled the truth immediately, when his son had entered the kitchen. Angel had a hard time hiding his smirk, when he heard Spike’s answer.

“Peaches, you can keep your soddin’ money.” After a while Spike added. “Bugger it, I’m staying –with Connor.” Spike was equally as annoyed by his sire as he was grateful to the damn poof, who was sitting opposite to him, making an innocent face, as if he didn’t have any idea, what had really been going on. Spike had been a puppet once more, even if this time, it had been for his own good. But he would never admit it to Angel, who had simply made Spike an offer he couldn’t resist. Obviously, the great nancy-boy had watched his _Godfather_.

 

************************************* 

 

_Your pain’s been the only constant in your life, the one thing that has never abandoned you._  
You think that your pain is yours to keep and bear alone.  
But it is not.  
I want it.  
I want everything you are. 

 

Next evening at sunset, Angel came back to the apartment, and the three of them played 7 card stud, until Angel had lost four times in a row. There had been a silent agreement between Connor and Spike to cheat on the game as much as possible. “Maybe we could earn our living as professional gamblers,” Connor thought. A quick blink from Spike was all Connor needed to ascertain, if Spike’s hand was good or bad. Of course, Angel realized their tricks. He had probably taught them to Spike in the first place.

“Is this what you’ve been doing with my son? Teaching him to play dirty?” He asked Spike, very irritated.

“I don’t think Connor needs much teaching in anything,” Spike stated, uncharacteristically quiet, looking at his sire straight in the eyes.

“Chill out, dad,” Connor interrupted. “We just couldn’t resist the temptation.” Angel merely sighed, as he swept the matches back into the box.

“Connor, is there something special you would like to do tonight?” He asked then.

“Let’s go skinnydipping,” Connor answered, and Spike had to put his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from laughing aloud. The kid was bloody adorable!

 

The beach was alight by a campfire in the distance and a crescent moon. Connor could distinguish people singing and laughing. Perhaps, he should do something to lighten up their much gloomier party –he undressed rapidly and walked towards the water. At the edge of the sea, he turned to the vampires.

“If I have to swim alone, I swear you will never see me again.” Connor grinned as widely as he could. Spike obeyed him immediately, tossing the towels and his clothes on the sand.

“The last one on the water sleeps alone!” he shouted cheerfully. Spike and Connor ran together to the sea and plunged into the waves. The water was cold, but a sense of freedom overwhelmed Connor. The salt filled his nostrils. Once the same water had filled his father’s nose, his mouth, and his dead lungs. Connor shook the thought away and recalled the first time he had heard the roar of the ocean. It was the first time he had found something more powerful and more relentless than himself, or his father. The ocean was like a huge bowl of God’s tears. The thought consoled him, and Connor smiled, when he reached Spike.

“Was my father born a brooding chicken, or did he just become one?” Connor asked him. The swimming vampire looked at Angel, who stood perfectly still just above the waterline looking at them sullenly.

“I think Captain Forehead is a natural,” Spike smirked. “Suppose, we could bring some moist cheer into his life.” They swam back and walked out the water holding hands. Angel’s stare was completely blank, until they surrounded him. 

“The duster!” Angel yelped, but it was too late, he was already lying down on his face, as the waves brushed over him and the black leather. Spike had locked his hands from behind, and Connor had given him a mighty push. Now, Angel had no choice but to strip off his wet clothes and join the others in the sea. Connor and Spike chased each other, and then, like two naughty children they splashed water on him until he gave in and chased them in turn. Actually, Angel was relieved to see Connor relaxed in his company, even if he probably had Spike to thank for it. Angel had been afraid of Connor’s mood, after the drive back from Nevada, because Connor had insisted they explain their bloodline’s history, how Angel had lost his soul twice, how Spike had regained his, and other things that had happened in L.A., in Sunnydale, and even way back in Europe. Mostly, they were incidents either Angel or Spike didn’t want to remember. At least, Connor had listened without jumping out of the Pontiac, as a matter of fact, he seemed to suck in every bit of information he received, even if his comments were scarce. 

“So you went back to Spike and Drusilla? You both loved the slayer? She killed you? She killed Grandpa the Freaking Monster? Good for her! You went to Africa to get your soul, so there’s no curse?”

 

Connor didn’t remember, the last time he had had so much pure unadulterated fun, and he wanted to cherish every second of it. He rose from the water and sat on his knees on the sand to observe his _family_ , because that was what those two vampires were to him. The thought of Spike being his father’s vampire grandson and a graduate of Angel’s school for serial killers had disturbed him at first, but then he had realized the irony of the situation: they both had souls, and they had both loved the same woman, and Connor was linked to both of them –by blood. They were standing in the hip high water now, and for a brief moment, Connor saw them facing each other, eyes locked in an intense gaze. Connor knew his father would sense the velvet of the other vampire’s skin even without touching, and that Spike’s scent would overwhelm him as it did Connor, every time. The world stopped spinning for Connor, as he remembered his dream. Two bodies entwined: the more muscular embracing the leaner one, and the heavier hands stroking the smooth skin of the other. Both bodies, beautiful and statuesque, were lit by the dim silvery moonlight similar to the one this night. It struck him: his father and Spike had slept together countless times. A sense memory from his childhood swept over Connor. The same feeling as when his kid sis had been brought from the hospital. Connor knew the memory was an illusion, but he recognized the sensation. _Jealousy_. Again, he was the one left outside, and the only thing he could do was to peek in through the window. He didn’t have a home. Suddenly, Connor chilled and trembled. 

 

The moment between the vampires was over. The powerful presence of Angel had almost knocked Spike over as always. The same presence usually made him prattle and sneer, to do anything to shake off the spell, but now, Spike felt like a door had been closed between him and his grandsire: the century-old battle of wills, and all those passions, whether hate or lust, domination or love, were left behind a thick wooden door without a knob, and it was peaceful on this side of the door. He noticed Connor’s shuddering and wrapped him in a towel in the way he’d done so many times in the past few weeks. Spike could swear he was becoming more like the pansy William every day. Connor lifted his eyes to him, and Spike wasn’t quite sure, if the drops on Connor’s cheeks were seawater or tears. 

 

************************************

_Your pain._  
I want it.  
I want everything you are. 

 

It was almost four o’clock in the morning, and Spike had only finished showering the grains of sand from his hair. Connor sat sulkily at the edge of the bed, inspecting the Persian patterns of the carpet. It was probably the most expensive one Angel had found, and now, it was sprinkled with Connor’s dried blood. He suspected that the old man wouldn’t be very happy about that. After all that had happened to Connor, his father finally chose to spoil him. Where had he been, when Connor had to sleep on sharp-edged rocks or in a muddy pit in Quortoth? Why had his Dad given up on him at the mall, when the only thing he ached for was to have somebody to love him with no hidden catch? There was a dark spot of hatred in his chest, just below his pounding heart. 

 "Aren't you the spitting image of your old man, brooding like that?" Spike interrupted his reverie.

“Did you love Angelus?” Spike stopped dead, the towel covering his face. 

“He didn’t need anybody’s love. He didn’t have any humanity left.”

“The absence of soul.” Connor clenched his jaw. “You had sex with him.”

“Yeah. You know about the relationships in a vampire family, and you also have the ability to comprehend the ties between a sire and a childe. You hear the call of blood, too.” Spike looked pointedly at Connor’s neck, and Connor felt a tingle, where Spike’s fangs had been, but he was too agitated to let himself bask in the sensation. Spike continued. “In my case, my sirebond extended to my grandsire, and those bonds are always made of three things: blood, power, and lust.” Spike dried himself and dressed in a pair of boxers. Before he had time to react, Connor had embraced him and bitten hard on his lower lip. Spike’s mouth filled with a coppery taste, his lip was bleeding. 

“How many times have you fucked Angel?” The boy asked grimly. Spike backed away from him. Connor felt the vampire’s body tense. “Like a jaguar preparing for a leap,” Connor thought, beguiled.

“Over the years, a countless times. After my coming back from the death, enough times.”

“Do you love him? Does he love you?”

“I wouldn’t call it love, ‘cause believe me I know what love is. Love is ardent connection, feverish yearning,” Spike answered. “And dreadful pain,” he added in his mind and finished aloud. “No, I don’t think he is in love with me.”

“Even with a soul?”

“In our case, the soul doesn’t matter.”

“You want him still, regardless of the fact that he is incapable of love with or without the soul? I think it matters!” Connor’s voice raised an octave, as he bounced up with fists tightly clenched. “He can’t love you! He can’t love!” Spike caught an old glimpse of a hurt and furious face. _“You are dead inside! You can’t feel anything real!”_

“You’re wrong, Connor.” Spike took him gently by the shoulders. “He loves you. As useless and impotent as that love has been, he has always loved you. But you always hurt the ones you love,” Spike added softly and brushed a strand of hair behind Connor’s ear. He regretted his words immediately, when he saw Connor’s face distort into a terrifying expression of grief and agony. 

“Yes, it’s me, the Destroyer. I’m the one who hurts everyone I love. I’m the one to turn everything around me to ashes. I even destroyed the sole purpose of my own existence!” Connor shook Spike’s hands off and pushed him away harshly. 

“Connor!” There was a hint of menace in Spike’s voice.

“The Destroyer. The bastard son of two vampires is who I am. But WHAT am I? I’m human. I bleed like one, but I’m an impossibility, an unholy throwaway vessel for a Power That Was! I only know how to kill and destroy. I’m no better than my father!” To Spike’s horror, Connor sunk his long fingernails in his own neck and scratched four long red stripes down to the tattoo on his chest. For a brief moment, Spike stood frozen, but it was enough for Connor to continue the tearing of his own flesh.

“Even in Quortoth, I was never tormented this way. This world is the true hell: the fire, and the brimstone, and me suffering for my iniquities, and worms of guilt gnawing my entrails….” Spike leapt forward, pushing Connor on the bed, and throwing the full length of his body on Connor’s trembling one, holding him tightly pinned to the mattress.

“Connor!” He shouted. “I know your pain, but you’ve got to stop punishing yourself!” Spike pushed Connor’s head back, exposing the torn marks on his neck. Connor’s expression was one of desperation and utter desolation. His eyelashes almost hid the stormy blue eyes, and on Connor’s lips Spike saw bloodstains from his own blood. 

 

_I am drowning in you._

 

“I’m standing on the verge of a bottomless abyss, all alone.” Connor’s words cut deep in Spike’s heart.

“I know what it’s like to not belong, to be nothing,” Spike spoke in a tranquil voice, though the voice in the back of his head echoed: _“Poor Spikey, can’t be a human, can’t be a vampire!”_ He continued, voice lowered. “To not be part of some greater plan means that you’re free. You’re free to choose your own destiny, your own purpose. No bloody powers, gods, or demons are going to dictate your life. Connor, the past doesn’t exist anymore, if you stop clinging to it. You have to let the past go to find what you are. You have to set yourself free: spread your wings, and devour your freedom, my Little Prince. _What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well_. This world is not the hell –it’s the purgatory.” Connor closed his eyes, as a few tears fell down between his eyelids. Spike licked Connor’s neck to seal the wounds, and then kept gently stroking the skin with his fingertips. There was so much sadness in Connor’s blood, that it almost made Spike feel like something inside of him was going to break too. They lay in the bed in silence. Finally, Connor opened his eyes.

“I want you to be mine,” he said with determination. _“Mine.”_

 

**********************************

 

Connor hated the penthouse: its walls closed in on him, and the height of the building muted the sounds of the city. The apartment was always too silent. The hunter instincts in him were constantly at alert in vane. This place had really begun to feel like a prison. He observed the creature that was resting on him in the shady bedroom. This vampire had his soul trapped too –but in a demon prison. Connor gazed at the muscles on Spike’s back, made distinct by the shadows. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t keep from touching Spike. His skin was so cool and silky compared to his own roughness and heat. It was almost Christmas, Connor remembered, sleepily. He would have to ask dad, if he could spend the holidays with Bob, Annie and little sis. They still believed he was part of their family.

 

Connor hadn’t kissed men without rolling in X, and the two kisses Spike had given him by then were completely different: the first had been straightforward, and the latter angry and rough. They had been nothing like the one now. First, Spike put his mouth lightly on his and licked away the traces of blood. Then, pressing harder, he parted Connor’s lips with his cool tongue. Soon, Spike’s mouth grew hot and voracious, and Connor started to feel the tension building up in the bottom of his belly. He realized that Spike must have been as starving for this as he was himself. Spike seemed to be all over him at once. His hand caressed Connor’s body, stomach, and thighs fervently, like he wanted to flay Connor’s skin and cover himself with it. Connor panted, shivered and squirmed. Spike’s rough tongue laving him felt like thousand little ants marching down his spine, and he was already pulsing painfully. He remembered Spike’s fangs on his neck: the magnetic pull from the core of his being streaming into someone who could not survive without it. At the thought of this, Connor wanted to make Spike twitch and burn under his touch in turn, but Spike didn’t let him. Instead, he rolled to his side and made their boxers disappear, before sliding languorously down to Connor’s hip. 

“Nobody’s done this to you before, have they?” It was a statement, not a question. Connor shook his head, and his hips jerked forward almost involuntarily in anticipation. Spike’s tone was almost sad as he continued to speak. “Always giving to everyone, and never getting anything in return.” Spike straddled his thighs and lowered his head. His eyes glowed, as he continued. “I’m going to make you feel better than ever before, my Little Prince.” Connor let out something between a wail and a howl, when Spike’s mouth finally swallowed him whole. He had never felt his heart beat so fiercely, and he could almost hear the rush of blood in his own veins. _Or had he felt like this before? Did this happen to him, when he was running after his pray fast as the wind on some arid field under a blood-red sky? The danger, the chase, the thrill, and the release belonged to him. They belonged to the Destroyer, and the creature whose cool lips savored and thrashed, tasted and devoured him was part of everything that belonged to him._

Before he had completely recovered from the exploding orgasm, Spike started kissing him again. Bright spots behind his eyelids still dazzled him, but Connor settled his hands on the nape of Spike’s neck to pull him even closer. Connor’s skin was so sensitive now, that he thought he would come all over again, just from the graze of Spike’s hard nipples on his chest. _If he clenched his fists, he could snap Spike’s neck like a stick of dry wood. Something that Connor knew would never happen. He would be the Destroyer to his grave, but he wasn’t alone anymore, this vampire was his blood and kin._

Somehow, he had to return the favor. Connor bit down hard on his own lip, swept the blood with his index finger and placed it on Spike’s mouth. Spike held his wrist and sucked the blood greedily. Connor wasn’t very well acquainted with vampire sex, but he knew that Spike enjoyed this, from the hard-on pushing against his pelvis. He kissed and stroked Spike everywhere he could reach. Then he bit with his blunt teeth on Spike’s neck, and his inner thighs and licked the reddening spots. Spike moaned and arched on the bed. His fingers squeezed Connor’s biceps tightly leaving marks on his arms. The harshness of the grip just made Connor want more. Luckily, Connor was very flexible. His feet were wrapped around Spike’s back, when Spike entered him. Even if Connor absolutely wanted to experience this one last form of connection with the vampire, Connor’s desire hadn’t stopped him from panicking at first, when he had lain flat on the bed all prepared, and Spike had parted his thighs with his knee. Spike had turned him over, rubbed tiny circles on his stomach with his thumb and slipped his other hand underneath. His skilled fingers had stroked him from both sides until he relaxed again. 

“Like a virgin,” Spike whispered. “So taut, silken, and luscious.” His voice was honey and molasses, everything soothing and seducing, as he reached for Connor’s cock. The slowly pulling fingers gave Connor time to adjust. Spike moved his hips to a better angle, and soon Connor’s fear turned into an exquisite pleasure, when they found the perfect rhythm. Spike felt Connor pull him roughly deeper. He gazed at Spike straight in the eyes, and his hands clawed on Spike’s shoulders, as if he was afraid that Spike would leave him in the middle of the act. 

Connor needed assurance that this time was different from the countless times he had been giving blowjobs to strangers for payment, his own insecurities numbed by ecstasy, which meant he might have been sucking chaos demons as well. They started moving faster, hips slamming together, and Connor hadn’t known about _that_ sweet spot. He lowered his hands on Spike’s waist and directed him to plunge even deeper, never loosing the eye contact. “It is my turn to devour you now!” Connor thought, victoriously, before his mind hazed. What finally threw him off the edge, regardless of the jolts of pleasure the fast thrusts sent through him, was the intensity of how Spike’s gaze dwelled completely on him and nobody else. 

“You are mine.” Connor groaned, overwhelmed by their connection. Spike changed to gameface, saying nothing. “You are mine,” he repeated, as he guided Spike’s head to his neck. Connor felt Spike burst inside of him, when the fangs pierced skin. _Long ago, hunting on the plains of Quortoth he had been free, and now, at this moment, when this predator, his brother in blood, penetrated him in every way that he possibly could, Connor remembered freedom again. The freedom that came, when you knew, where you belonged, and who you were, something that nobody could take away from him._

 

*********************************

 

The delightful mixture of the smell of sex and Connor’s musk still floated in the bedroom, when Spike lit a cigarette. He inhaled a few times and placed the cigarette between Connor’s lips. Connor grasped it in his fingers, and Spike lit another for himself. Connor was lying on Spike: his feet between Spike’s, and his arms crossed over Spike’s stomach, his chin leaning on the back of his hand. Connor liked it there. 

It had taken a while for Spike to come back from the blazing orgasm. This boy was so full of life: his body warm and inviting, his every muscle pulsating with energy, his skin glowing. Connor radiated of all those emotions only a human could feel, yet his power belonged to darkness, to a creature of night, like someone Spike used to know. He chased that particular train of thought away quickly. Connor had chosen him, and Spike wanted to smile. 

“Bloody hell, you just had to love him!” Spike thought.

 Finishing the cigarette, Connor lifted his upper body and straddled Spike, pressing their crotches comfortably together. He rocked his hips slowly, and Spike felt himself harden again. 

“Now I want to do it to you,” Connor said. His lips were parted, and eyes dilated. The decadent young seducer was back. “I’m going to make sure you won’t remember him anymore.” Spike saw a quick flash of anger and hurt cross Connor’s eyes, but it was gone quickly, swept away by a mischievous smile. Spike looked away from him for a while, trying to think through the rising tide of lust. Daddy Dearest was always going to be in bed with them, but if Connor wasn’t bothered, neither would he. Turning back, Spike slapped Connor’s deliciously naked butt and lifted a scarred eyebrow. 

“You little brat!” In a split second, Spike had shifted positions so that he was clutching Connor’s narrow waist between his thighs. “First, you have to get me under!”

 

***********************************

 

In his Wolfram & Hart office, Angel sat behind his desk and browsed through his son’s file. “Why did it have to happen every time?” He thought gloomily. “I make a water-tight and bullet-proof plan, and fate still manages to twist it. That dealer scumbag is going to regret ever speaking to my son, while he is somebody’s bitch in the jail for the rest of his damned life” Angel thought, clenching his fists. Connor was back with him –in a way. He didn’t know, how long it would take for his son to forgive him, if ever. At least, he could count on Spike to take care of Connor for the rest of his life, like he had taken care of Drusilla for a century, or Dawn after Buffy's death. Though Angel would have to confront Spike about a few details: the smoking, for instance. As if he hadn't noticed it. Another thing was the dark plum nail polish Connor had started using. Their scents were already all over each other like two bodies constantly merged in an embrace… Yes, his son was being cared for. For a moment, his heart was swept over by a flush of yearning and a sense of loss. Trying to win Connor back, he had lost Spike.

“Angel.” A familiar voice interrupted his musing. 

“Wesley!” Angel flinched, before putting the file swiftly back in its drawer. 

“I wanted to tell you that Illyria and I are going to take down the boss of the Ochela demon clan. Is everything all right? Wesley asked, noticing Angel’s absent-mindedness.

“What? Yeah. Sure. Why not?” Wesley was noticeably worried about him. Angel felt a twitch in his consciousness. Wesley had been through hell recently, and Angel had only been mired in his own troubles.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is there something I should be aware of? Like a pending apocalypse? Because it’s not usual for you to trust Spike to infiltrate a drug gang, and what about the project you’ve assigned him now? What’s that all about? You didn’t exactly explain that to me.” Wesley’s mouth was a straight line.

“No, no apocalypse. Not even pending,” Angel grinned at his friend, hoping that Wesley didn’t notice the nervous shifting of his legs behind the desk. “The mission was just an excuse to get Spike off my back for a while (“And out of my senses,” Angel added in his mind). Or maybe, one more apocalypse is heading our way, because I think I need to go out more, as you guys have always pestered me.” Wesley gave him an odd look.

“Dear Lord! It _is_ the end of the world!”


End file.
